A Man of Letters
by hklbry
Summary: A lot of therapists recommend keeping a journal. A lot of oncologists are in therapy. A few oncologists are a little tightly wound. One particularly tightly wound oncologist is in therapy and is friends with Greg House.
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Man of Letters

Chapter 1: The Little Black Book … of Death!!! 

_All she had to do was scan a little bar code on a little box. That's it! I mean, somebody's got to do it, but … no, you know what? Nobody has to do it. They have self checkouts at other stores so she is replaceable. And how can she screw up when untrained people check themselves out everyday? Simple. Scan the box, scan the coupon. I shouldn't have to wait around for 15 minutes while she tries to figure it out! I even told her, __**I told her**__, that she should just forget it. That stupid coupon was worth less than what I make in a minute so why did I even bother? And why didn't I just insist she stop and finish checking me out? Oh no, I had to be all polite and try to convince her it wasn't a problem. That's why I had to waste more of my time and wait for her to get off work._

What, House thought. Wilson waited for some teenage cashier to get off work? This was going to be good! He wet his lips eagerly looked for where he lost his place.

_I saw her walking out and I realized she wasn't walking towards what I thought was the employee parking. No, she couldn't even do that for me! No, she was walking the other way entirely. I put the car in drive and by the time I got to the other side of the parking lot she was waiting at a bus stop. I pulled up and smiled. She remembered me and smiled back and I asked her if she needed a lift. I even told her I wasn't some kind of insane serial killer. She smiled and got in the car. At least she made that part easy._

House was gnawing a hole in his bottom lip. He could just see Wilson doing his Prince Valiant routine. He turned the page in the journal.

_I drove towards her place and made small talk before I told her I just remembered a stop I needed to make that would only take a minute and was on the way. She didn't mind. I pulled the car into that plaza on Burton where all those stores are closed. She should have had alarm bells going off in her head, but she was completely engrossed in her lip gloss. When I walked around the car and yanked the passenger door open she looked surprised. Not scared or worried, just surprised. Something about that pissed me off even more. I dragged her out and pushed her on the pavement. Now she looked scared._

House's eyes went wide. What…the…fuck?

_She started to get up so I had to push her back down. She tried to move away so I had to stop her. I stomped on her with my left foot right in the center of her abdomen. It didn't feel like I thought it would so I tried it again a little higher. I felt some ribs break. I started jumping on her torso like me and my brothers used to jump on our parents bed. When I finally stopped to catch my breath, I realized she was dead. I picked her lip gloss up off the parking lot where it had rolled, got back in the car, and drove home. I was immediately angry again when I got home and realized she packed the eggs sideways and two of the dozen were now broken. That bitch!_

That was not what House was expecting from Wilson's diary. He thought this was going to be about him. Sure, he thought it would be a lot about coping with Amber's death and dying patients and whatever else his therapist thought should be recorded, but ultimately House had assumed it would be about him. Maybe it would be about how he killed Amber or how he had put himself in harm's way again or how he had embarrassed Wilson in front of the mom of some cancer kid, but it would still be about House. It wasn't suppose to be some weird confession to killing some dopey cashier. He flipped through the pages looking for his name.

_Blood…broken…gurgling…knife…gash…strangling…stab…maim…kill…_

Then he saw a name - O'Shea. House knew Dr. O'Shea. He'd tried to make friends with O'Shea, but he gave up when Wilson came back to work.

_I was just walking down the hall. It happens that way a lot. I just wanted to get from point A to point B, but because I'm me, people think it's perfectly ok to stop me. I don't really know O'Shea, but he felt like he knew me well enough to call after me while I was just walking down the hallway. I stopped and he caught up to me and said we needed to talk. So I thought he might need a consult or something. I followed him into a conference room and he told me he knows I'm not gay. Yeah! He interrupts my day to tell me about my sexuality. I could feel the anger bubbling up inside of me and I tried to think of the peaceful mantra I'm suppose to repeat at times like that. But I couldn't concentrate on that because O'Shea put his hand on my arm and said that he had put a lot of thought into the whole not gay, but sex with men thing and if "things" didn't work out now that I was back I should give him a call. Then he squeezed my arm and kind of wriggled his eyebrows. _

House moaned. So that kind of had to do with him, but he had hoped Wilson would never hear about it. He was surprised Wilson hadn't mentioned it. He would have thought Wilson would have teased him mercilessly about it. If the positions were reversed he would have. He wished the entries were dated. The book was only labeled "Journal II". Only a few dozen pages were filled in so House guessed that it was maybe 20 entries. This one was about half way so maybe it was as little as a week ago. Then again, it could just as easily been two months ago. House could picture Wilson writing in his journal every chance he got so this might only represent a few days. He'd seen Wilson writing in it yesterday so… House gave up calculating and accepted he simply didn't have enough data to make an educated guess. He returned to the O'Shea entry.

_Did he think "things" weren't going to work out? Was he hoping "things" would go badly for me? And who was he to presume there was any room for somebody like him in my life regardless of how "things" turn out? I didn't even think about it. I grabbed his tie and pulled as hard as I could. He lost his balance and I pushed his head into the wall. He fell to the floor out cold. I couldn't just leave him there like that so I picked up and leaned him against the wall. I grabbed his head and checked to see if his neck was broken. It wasn't. I bashed his head into the wall again and again and again until I heard a popping sound as his skull gave way. All I could think was how am I going to explain the dented drywall to Cuddy._

Whoa! House knew there were 8 kinds of wrong going on there. Most importantly he would have heard if O'Shea or anybody else had been found dead in a conference room. Then there was the lack of worry about disposing of the body. House was suddenly concerned when he didn't place "Wilson wouldn't kill somebody" at the top of the list. He could kind of see it. He wasn't sure if Wilson would be so messy about it though. He'd probably have everything planned out to mitigate any risk. What was he thinking? Wilson wouldn't hurt anybody. But the seed had been planted in House's fertile mind. He read a few more entries about bludgeoning waiters and knifing that obnoxious ped's nurse who thought she was oh so cute before putting the book back behind the desk drawer where he'd finally found it. He made a mental note that the last entry was the cable guy Wilson pushed off the ladder. House planned to check back to see just how often Wilson was updating his Little Black Book of Death.

* * *

Two days later House saw Wilson sitting in the cafeteria alone scribbling frantically. He watched him for a few moments before he decided he should join him. Maybe if he caught him in the act Wilson would share his murder fantasies with him. Wouldn't that be better than writing them down? Then they could make it their little joke instead of Wilson's new pathology.

Wilson was so engrossed in what he was writing he didn't notice House until he loudly pulled out a chair, turned it around, and dropped onto it as if his body had just discovered gravity.

"What cha doing," House asked propping his head on the back of the chair. Wilson quickly closed the journal and then tried to nonchalantly hide it. House nodded towards it. "Kinda big just for digits. You keeping stats now?" Wilson gave him an annoyed look that wasn't even close to his best.

"What do you want, House?" He tried to sound annoyed instead of anxious.

"Nothing, just seeing what my best buddy is up to."

"Just filling out paperwork. You know, that work we do with paper that you avoid. How's your patient?" Wilson hoped the patient was doing badly so House wouldn't mind changing the subject.

"Patient? Meh. Solved that one two hours ago. Not even a real mystery. Redid the labs and found the old ones were wrong. Yawn. On the other hand, the mystery of what you're writing there is fresh and new!"

"House, I told you. I'm filling out paper work." Wilson knew he didn't sound convincing. House gave him that cold, blue stare that people could still see when they closed their eyes.

"The book, what are you writing in the book?" House pronounced each syllable deliberately.

"It's private."

"It's no big deal, you know." Wilson was surprised to hear that. "Lots of people keep journals." Wilson had a brief second of relief before the panic set in.

"How do you know it's a journal?" Wilson clasped it in his hands protectively.

"I've read it," House said and the blood drained from Wilson's face.

"What," Wilson managed to wheeze out as he began hurtling down the panic attack highway.

"I saw you with it the other day so I decided to take a look. Are you ok?" Wilson was not looking ok.

"House! It's private," his voice was barely above a whisper.

"Stop being so melodramatic. You've got nothing to be embarrassed about." Wilson eyebrows tried to meet his hair line in surprise.

"Do you, um, do you mean that?" Wilson felt the panic turn into a different kind of emotional upheaval.

"Yeah, seriously. I've got my little fantasies, too, you know." Wilson's face turned red. He couldn't believe they were having this conversation.

"Are any of them about me," Wilson asked hesitantly.

"Of course not," House said not noticing the sinking look on Wilson's face. "Mostly Cuddy, but you know how it is when you work closely with people. I've had plans for Cameron, Chase, Foreman, Taub…"

"Taub," Wilson exclaimed.

"Sure! In fact, there are times I'd love to do to Taub what you wrote about doing to O'Shea." Now Wilson was just confused.

"What I wrote about O'Shea?"

"Sure and what you did to the cashier? I don't even need a particular reason to want to do that to 13." Wilson suddenly realized what House was talking about.

"Right. You'd love to jump on her in the parking lot…"

"Jump her, jump on her, whatever, just don't make me talk to her." House smiled. "Isn't it more fun to talk about murder fantasies than writing about them?" Wilson nodded enthusiastically. "So why don't you ever write about me? I would have thought I'd be your favorite character." Wilson tried not to laugh.

"For you I'd need a whole book," Wilson said gripping the book tighter as he stood to leave. "I've got a patient appointment to keep. See you at lunch."

As Wilson turned to leave House noticed the glint of gold from the gilded edges of the pages. It was striking as he knew the journal he read didn't have gilded pages. So much for the renewed feeling of camaraderie he'd been feeling. Maybe the reason there was no mention of House in Wilson's Little Black Book of Death was because there was a Wilson's Big Black Book of House's Death. He was going to have to get his hands on that book.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This is way too long and I know both medical truths and laws of physics are broken. Sorry!

Title: A Man of Letters

Chapter 2: The Big Black Book … OF HOUSE'S DEATH!!! 

"You seem pretty distracted considering your case is solved. Did you pick up another one," Wilson asked picking at his salad. He was right. House was distracted, but he wasn't going to let Wilson know that.

House hadn't bothered trying to not fixate on Wilson's journaling. A mystery involving Wilson? The only thing that could be better was if Wilson's hypergraphia was a symptom instead of just an outlet for his murder fantasies. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He decided he needed another look at Wilson's Little Black Book of Death. Certainly House wanted to see the other book more, but looking at the other book he had already read might give him clues. It had been a few days. Maybe he'd updated it. Maybe the other book was hidden in Wilson's desk, too.

"Not exactly. I'm just thinking of my next prank on Cuddy. I'm not sure where I can buy fleas. Looks like my afternoon will be google-rific."

"Just don't bring any over to my place. You still coming over tonight to watch the fight?" House grunted.

"Since you're paying for the fight and, as a good host, will no doubt feed me, I wouldn't miss it for the world!" They both smiled and Wilson pushed a plate of French fries towards House.

"Speaking of you mooching food, fries? That sandwich looks like it's missing its fried goodness sidekick."

"That's ok. I'm not really hungry." There was scarcely anything else House could have said that would have made more warning bells go off in Wilson's head. House not stealing food? Not eating offered food? Not being hungry?? Either he was sick or something horrible like Armageddon was on the horizon. Or, Wilson thought, House is up to something.

Neither said much the rest of lunch. House was distracted and Wilson was worried causing both to be too preoccupied for idle gossip. Then House didn't stop by Wilson's office for his afternoon coffee break/nap. Wilson apprehension meter hit a solid 9. House finally stopped by at 4:30 to say he was going home and would meet Wilson at his place later. Wilson offered to knock off early and drive him back to his place so they could start the party early. House politely refused, reiterated he'd be over soon, and left. The apprehension meter went to 10.

House went back to his office and packed up his stuff just like he did at the end of any other day. He rode the elevator down and walked through the lobby. Then he went outside and met Kutner who was waiting there.

"It's cold out here! What took you so long," Kutner whined as he hopped from leg to leg trying to get warm.

"Shut up. It's only a little below freezing." House handed Kutner his backpack. "Take this with you. Here are my keys. Make sure you go someplace Wilson won't see the car." Kutner took the keys and smiled broadly.

"This is so cool! Are you going to let me in on the rest of the gag?" Kutner's enthusiasm spilled out in every word. House was beginning to regret his inclusion of Kutner in his plan. Chase never bounced happily like that.

"We'll see. Now get going before Wilson sees us talking!" Kutner saluted and ran off to move House's car. At least, House thought, he was quick about it.

House went back inside and hid in the stairwell until he heard his George Clinton "Double Oh-Oh" ringtone.

"The bird has left the nest. Do I really have to say it like that," the voice on the phone asked.

"You do if you want the 40 bucks. Thanks." House ended the call and headed to "the bird's" office.

It wasn't necessary for House to go to great lengths to get into Wilson's office, but the extra effort made Operation Anne Frank more fun and this was all about fun for him. Well, fun and finding out how Wilson imagined killing House. House propelled himself over the low wall separating his balcony from Wilson's while quietly humming the Mission Impossible theme song. He pulled out his Dyno Kwick Pick and poked out his tongue in concentration. This, he thought, was going to take nerves of steel, the steady hands of a cat burglar and a genius to realize the door isn't locked. He put the lock pick back in his pocket and tried not to be disappointed at not having to use it. He pulled out his mini maglite and went for the desk. He half hoped the desk would be locked so he could use the Kwick Pick after all. It wasn't.

House pulled out the desk drawer that had hidden the journal before. Since Wilson knew he knew it was there he expected it to be missing. It wasn't. In House's book that was like giving him permission and that didn't fit with the espionage feel he wanted. He sighed and reminded himself that he should be grateful that it was easy. Lazy House liked the easy part, but Curious House liked there to be a little challenge to things. Maybe, he thought, this was too easy. Maybe Wilson was on to him! That brought his spirit back and he reached in for the journal. Holding the flashlight with his mouth, although he could have simply turned on the desk lamp, House flipped through the book to the last few pages. Then he flipped back a few more. It had only been 3 days, 2 and a half really, since he had read the murder of the cable guy. Wilson had already filled 8 more pages.

_I said "no ice". I know I said "no ice". I wanted to let it go, but why should I get a glass of water with ice when that isn't what I want? So when the waitress came back I asked her if I could have another glass of water, but one without ice. She said she was sorry for the mix up in that fake apologetic tone that waitresses use and I hoped it would end there. It didn't. I had to ask her a second time. This time she said she thought somebody else had already brought it out to me. _

House remembered this. It was about a week ago. Clearly Wilson had been behind when House read the book last time.

_She came back the third time with no iceless water and made some crack about how the ice had melted in the original glass so I should just drink that._

Oh no she didn't, House thought. He had said that and Wilson had shot him a really mean look that made him laugh.

_I picked up the glass and smashed it against her right temple. It shattered and she started screaming. I punched her in the face and told her to shut up. She fell to the ground and I grabbed the knife from my plate. I stabbed her in the shoulder. She tried to curl into a ball and I kept slashing and thrusting the knife into her back. Finally she stopped screaming. I looked down and saw I had her blood all over me. I kicked her corpse in the head. Now I was going to have to go home and change before the movie._

House chuckled. He knew on some level that wasn't the appropriate response, but he knew the knife on the table had been a steak knife that hadn't been sharp enough to saw through his ribeye. He was impressed with Wilson's imagination. Then he wasn't chuckling. He reread the passage. House had been with him at the restaurant. Why wasn't he in the book? And the final straw that turned Wilson into a blood thirsty savage had been what he had said, not anything the waitress had really done or said. He wanted credit. If he had been the one to push Wilson into a murderous rage then he should be the one in the journal getting stabbed to death. It just didn't seem fair.

_The sign says "Physician Parking" and the sign below that says "J. E. Wilson". I know because I had to kill somebody a few months ago when the painted over the "ilson". _

Hey, House thought, I'm not a "somebody"! You better not have killed somebody else for that one!

_But there she was pulling into my space while I was coming down the aisle. I stayed calm, though. I pulled around and waited for her to get out of her car and started walking towards the entrance. I looked both ways before turning my car towards the crosswalk and slamming on the gas. _

House could believe Wilson would obey all traffic laws up to the point of committing vehicular homicide.

_She bounced off the front fender and got just enough height to hit the hood before I slammed on the brakes and she kinda rolled up the windshield. I hit the gas again and she fell onto the pavement. I put it in reverse and ran over her again. I wasn't positive both the rear and front tires hit her solidly so I put in in drive and ran over her again for good measure. Does it qualify as road rage if I was in a parking lot?_

House didn't think that was Wilson's best work. He did seem like more of a hands-on kind of killer.

_I really like hazelnut hot chocolate._

Well that certainly sounded different from the rest of the journal.

_I decided to treat myself to one on the way to work this morning. I ordered a large hazelnut cocoa. Please. This 20 year-old punk… _

Punk! House couldn't imagine Wilson uses the word punk like that!

…_smiles like the idiot he is and asks me if I mean "grande". Is that a large? "No, it's a grande!" My hand caressed the handle of the gun in my pocket and I relaxed a little. _

Wilson doesn't know anything about guns, House thought. If he carried one in his pocket he'd keep his bullets in his shirt pocket a la Barney Fife for safety! And caressing the handle? I hope his shrink isn't a Freudian.

_Then he wanted to know if I wanted regular or "Signature". Can't I just get some cocoa!! He started explaining to me in this condescending voice what the difference was. Fine - give me the goddamn grande hazelnut signature hot chocolate with whole milk! Then he said something patronizing about how that would quadruple the calories and fat. Was he criticizing my weight? I don't need some bitchy barista pointing out that I've gained a little weight. _

That explains the salads and rabbit food. House made a mental note that calling him Weeble Wobble Wilson could be very funny and/or disastrous.

_I didn't say a word. I just pulled out the gun and put a bullet right in the center of his forehead. There was another barista standing there all smug so I shot her too. The woman behind me in line screamed so I had to shoot her to shut her up. If that stupid coffee jerk had just given me my cocoa everything would be fine. Two more customers were coming in as I left so I shot them to be on the safe side. No witnesses. The second one started running so I had to shoot him in the back. I had to reload before finishing him off. I hate wasting ammo._

House involuntarily laughed at Wilson saying "ammo". He imagined Wilson wearing a bandolier under his lab coat. House giggled around the flashlight. He flipped through and while the accounts of mayhem were amusing they still didn't include House. If anything other people were brutally dismembered for things House did. House needed to get his hands on the other book. If strangers got 8 pages in 2 days he must get 18 in 1!

House put the book back and searched the rest of the desk. There was no sign of the other book, but House hadn't expected there to be. Wilson knew he knew where the Little Black Book of Death was kept and Wilson was far too crafty to make it easy for House. House put everything back and left. Safely in his own office he called Kutner to bring his car back and told him to give the parking lot booth operator $40 on behalf of the Falcon. The game was (still) afoot.

* * *

Wilson had hid and rehid his journal four times. He thought House was up to something and the only thing they had talked about recently was his journal. Did House know the book in his desk wasn't the only one? He might. That was the problem with having an obsessive genius as a friend. He had to know everything all the time and if something was private that just brought it to the top of his must-know list. Wilson finally settled for hiding it behind a some oncology books on the top shelf of his book case. He carefully arranged the books in front of the journal without disturbing the rest of the books on the shelf. He felt like Wile E. Coyote trying to pull one over on the Road Runner. Well, not exactly. He wasn't using any rockets or malfunctioning spring powered traps.

* * *

House arrived early carrying more beer than what was necessary or, more specifically, more than what was necessary for two men to enjoy a boxing match. It was just enough to make a lightweight like Wilson drunk and drowsy enough to go to bed early leaving the happily buzzed heavy drinker to "sleep" on the couch and riffle through the lightweight's belongings. For House that was the evening's real entertainment.

"Wow! That's…a lot of beer," Wilson said opening the door.

"All the better to get you drunk and take advantage of you, " House said barging through the door and heading towards the kitchen.

"Now that I know you're crafty plan maybe I'll just stick to water," Wilson said following him.

"Would you like some ice for your water?" Wilson knew that meant House had gone back to his journal.

"No thanks, I'll go with the beer." Perfect, House thought. Wilson has no idea I read about that in the journal.

They both overplayed the jovial camaraderie angle causing them to vacillate between suspicion and cockiness at having fooled the other. The fight lasted three rounds so they didn't feel completely robbed, but it did leave a small sense of disappointment as it hadn't lived up to the hype.

That pretty much summed up the evening as well. Wilson would go to the bathroom and House would run to the bedroom and riffle through as many drawers as quickly as he could before rushing back to the living room to look casual. He hadn't found the book, but he was pretty proud of himself for not getting caught. He might be a cripple, but he had the stealth of a ninja!

Wilson blamed the beer to make frequent trips to the bathroom. He had to stop himself from laughing at the image of House trying to covertly scour his home every time he closed the door. He tried to make a little noise before he opened the door to give House a chance to get back to the couch which only made it funnier when he'd walk out and see House trying to look nonchalant. He didn't give him enough time once and House had to pretend he was examining the print hanging in the hallway. Wilson had to head straight to the kitchen to hide the smile on his face. Best of all, from House's no so subtle searching he knew House was nowhere near the book.

Eventually Wilson yawned and informed House that he needed to get to bed. He knew he'd be out like a light as soon as his head hit his pillow. Alcohol made staying up difficult for him on many levels.

"'kay. I'm just going to sleep here on the couch." Wilson was suddenly wide awake.

"What do you mean sleep on the couch?" Wilson was hoping that was some kind of House code for "leaving without a fuss".

"I've been drinking! I can't ask you to drive me home because you haven't just been drinking; you're drunk. I'll just sleep here." House began fluffing a throw pillow.

"I'm not drunk," Wilson argued.

"You're drunk like lemonade on a hot day."

"What does that even mean," Wilson questioned loudly. House shook his head.

"Either you are too drunk to understand it or I'm too drunk to explain it. Everything will be clearer in the morning." House smiled. Wilson tried to not be too outwardly apprehensive as he got up to go to bed. On the bright side, he thought, House hasn't a clue the book is in this room and even if he finds it that's not the end of the world. He'd find it eventually.

"'Night, House."

"'Night, Wilson," House said arranging his lanky frame on the couch. He wasn't sure where the book was, but, House thought, based on Wilson's reaction it must be in this room. He waited until he heard Wilson snoring and then began his search. He opened the drawer of an end table and looked in all the cubby holes on the television stand.

Then he decided to try to think like Wilson. Where would Wilson put a book? He'd put it on a bookshelf, but that's way too obvious. But, he reasoned, that is what he'd think I'd think. He walked over to the book case. The very bottom shelf was his first guess. It was just low enough to make it impossible for him to look at it without sitting down on the carpet. No sign of it. He took a look at the next two shelves while he was down there, but he hadn't expected to find it there. House grabbed onto the bookcase for support and almost toppled it over in the process. A book from the top shelf nearly beaned him, but his cat-like reflexes meant it only bounced off his arm. The fact that he yelped was not indicative of his cat-like reflexes being more Kit Kat and less Jaguar, House mentally assured himself.

House picked the book up. _The Cancer Biopathy_ by Wilhelm Reich - Wilson you closet beatnik, cancer perv, House thought flipping through the book. He chuckled to himself and reached to put it back on the top shelf. The other cancer books didn't seem nearly as hilarious. He shoved Reich back into place, but felt it hit something before it should have hit the back of the shelf. He pulled the ottoman over and climbed it, again using the rickety bookcase for support, to see the top shelf. Having knocked most of the books off the shelf, House could clearly see the journal. Victory is mine, he thought as he hopped off the ottoman.

It was black just like the other journal, but this one had gilded pages and a yellow, silk place holder sewn into the binding. Clearly this was a more substantial, more dignified, more expensive book than Wilson's Little Black Book of Death. This could only be Wilson's Big Black Book of House's Death.

_I tried to let it go. I did. I know it's wishful thinking, but I always hope House will just…shut up. _

That's more like it, House thought. Finally Wilson was going to find a more worthy victim!

_Yes, I get it. The new receptionist Dr. Todd hired for his department is young, hot, and stupid. Got it. Yes, I was talking to her. No, that doesn't mean I'm trying to "do her". But would he shut up? No, of course not. And he didn't care who heard him. In fact, he goes out of his way to make his voice heard. When Todd came up to tell me his new receptionist is his niece and he'd appreciate it if I'd stay away from her since I was old enough to be her father. Does House have any idea how embarrassing that it? Yep. He knows. I went to tell him of my mortification and he tells me he knew it was his niece. He knew! He also knew Dr. Todd was very protective of her. I lost it!_

Finally! What are you going to do? Shoot me? Maybe I'll get pushed through a glass wall!

_House turned in his chair back to face his computer - I guess that was suppose to be my signal that my audience with the great man was over - and I grabbed the marble mortar he had on his desk. I brought it up and slammed it against the back of his head._

That's it? He hits me over the head? House felt a little crestfallen. He had assumed Wilson would have something more elaborate planned for him.

_House slumped over his keyboard. I was worried I hit him too hard so I checked his pulse and found he was still alive. I wasn't sure how long he'd be out though so I'd have to move quickly._

I'm not dead! He didn't even kill me, House mentally yelled. Incompetent cashier gets abducted and stomped to death and all I get is a bump on the head??

_I lowered the kick locks on both of his doors and closed the blinds. I went back to House unfastened his belt._

My belt? He knocked my unconscious to steal my accessories?

_He groaned when I had to move him around to get it out of his pant loops. I probably should have hit him harder. I wrapped his belt around his ankles and the legs of his chair. I tore off my belt and tied his arms to the back of the chair. I pulled out my handkerchief and stuffed it in his mouth. Then I took off my tie and wrapped that around his head to keep the gag in place. _

He tied me up to kill me? I'm unconscious! Take the pestle and bash my brains out!

_He started to come to so I lightly slapped his cheeks and told him to wake up. I was smiling down at him when he opened his eyes. Then he realized he couldn't move. Then he started to panic. I told him it was pointless to struggle, but he did anyways so I slapped him hard across the face. He stopped struggling for a moment out of shock, but House doesn't know when to just sit still so he started pulling against the belt around his wrist. I hit him again, this time with my fist. That's when he started looking scared._

Oh please, Wilson! Like I would be scared of you!

_I told him he should be scared. _

I don't think so!

_I put my hands around his throat and squeezed just tight enough for him to realize just how helpless he was. Once I was sure he got that message and tightened my grip until he was on the verge of losing consciousness. I let him go and he almost choked gasping for air around his gag. It made me laugh. I'd finally made him shut up._

I wasn't the one trying to chat up Todd's jail bait receptionist.

_As soon as he got his breath back he started struggling again. He almost knocked the chair over. I told him to be still, but of course he wouldn't do it. I told him since he wouldn't listen it was only fair that he couldn't. He looked at me confused and I slapped my hand against his right ear. He yelped so I did it a few more times. I asked him if he heard a ringing sound yet and he said something that sounded like "stop it". I nodded and said "alright". He looked relieved. Then I picked up the his pen and wriggled it in front of him. I told him I was going to help him by giving him an excuse for ignoring people. His ears were huge and he tried to get away from me. I rolled him into the wall and after a little effort got the left side of his face against the wall. _

House shivered. He did not like where this was going.

_I put the pen in his right ear canal. It barely fit. I let go of it and told him to calm down. Did he really think I would hurt him? He closed his eyes for a second and then it almost looked like he was smiling around the gag. Apparently he didn't think I'd hurt him. I grabbed the pen and shoved it in as deep as I could. _

"Ugh," House groaned looking away from the journal. That seemed uncalled for! Sure he appreciated having the extra attention, but that just sounded mean. He went back to reading.

_House had tears rolling down his face._

I wouldn't cry, House thought, pouting.

_I slowly pulled the pen out. It was stuck so I finally had to give it a good tug. That felt like it hurt! I told him it was time for the other side and he managed to spin the chair, knocking me down. That pissed me off! I got up and punched him in the face. The chair fell over and he landed on his left arm. It sounded like it might have broken. That made me feel a little better, but I was still mad. I kicked him in the face and that did break his nose. I pulled him over until he was on his back. With the back of the chair behind him and his hands behind that it looked awkward AND painful. He tried to roll onto his right side, but the legs of the chair kept him stuck. It looked like his attempts to swivel horizontally were only causing him more pain. The blood from his nose was pouring down his face. He started acting like he was choking. Like I was going to fall for that! I put my foot on his throat and asked him if that made his breathing any easier. Obviously, he wasn't in any position to answer. About then I realized he really was choking and drowning in his own blood._

Thanks for the consult, Doctor Wilson!

_I hadn't planned on him dying like that, but there was something mesmerizing about it, something, I don't know, beautiful._

Beautiful? You'd better be finding a new therapist!

_I held his head still while he died. In the end he just lost consciousness and then stopped struggling to breath. It was peaceful. I took out the gag and undid the belts before calling security about the apparent attack on Dr. House. I'd blame the blood on my clothes on my attempts to resuscitate him. I hoped they wouldn't question me too long because I needed to get that tie into some cold water before the blood set. I really like that tie._

House was stunned. Sure, Wilson had been callous about his other kills, but he didn't torture them. He certainly didn't watch them die from attrition rather than action. Oh look! House is dying, House thought. Nothing to do, but watch him die! Ho-hum. He almost put the journal down without reading the next entry.

_House never forgets anything._

Well, at least Wilson appreciated his mind.

_I should say he never forgets anything trivial or meaningless._

Ok, maybe Wilson didn't appreciate his mind.

_Does he remember my birthday? No. Does he remember I wear the brown Crockett & Jones on Tuesdays? Yes. Can he just let it go if I wear them on a Monday? No. Mondays are usually Bexleys or maybe even Kenneth Coles, but never the C&Js. Does he think I'm so predictable that wearing different shoes means I'm up to something?_

Yep, House thought. And you were.

_And when I don't tell give him a good enough reason why I'm wearing them on a Monday he assumes I'm hiding something and lying to him about it._

Which you were.

_I decided to show him who was predictable! I told him to meet me in patient room 5206 by elevator C at 7 and I'd explain everything. I knew he'd show up because House needs to know everything._

House snorted. He makes it sound like that's a bad thing.

_So when he got there I used his "needle in the neck" move against him._

What! Move? I did it, like, once in front of him!

_It turned out House is way heavier than he looks. I guess all those years stealing people's food caught up to him. It's a little comforting to know his high metabolism had given out._

Don't push your food issues onto me! My metabolism is just fine, House thought as he checked his mid-section for bulges.

_I figured he'd be out for a few hours so I had plenty of time to get him on the bed. I bruised him up pretty good doing it, but I did get him up there._

Yeah, like in the great shape you're in you could really go that.

_I decided House was going to help me with an experiment. _

Now who needs to know everything!

_I opened his mouth and coated his teeth with the seaworm glue. It hadn't been approved for human trials yet, but since that was the kind of thing that wouldn't bother House, I decided I wouldn't let that bother me. As an afterthought, I put more of the glue on his tongue and then put enough gauze under his tongue so it hit the roof of his mouth. Then I clamped his jaw shut. I wasn't exactly sure how long it would take for the glue to cure, but that was one reason I made sure he'd be out for awhile. _

Seaworm glue! Oh come on! That wouldn't…House thought about it for a moment. Yeah, that probably would work.

_I already had the patient restraints attached to the bed so strapping him down was the easiest part. I took his shoes and socks off. And I've got to say, he has a lot of nerve talking about my clothes and my shoes. He wears a different pair of sneakers like everyday! He has dozens of them! If I were as obsessively observant about House's shoes as he is about mine I'm pretty sure I'd find several pair he only wore once or twice. And it's not like he's going to wear a pair out or anything!_

Now that was below the belt!

_So I waited for him to wake up. After an hour I checked the glue seal and it was pretty impressive. He might get his mouth open, but it would only be by pulling his teeth out._

The image of him pulling his mouth open and having all his upper teeth pull out connected to his lower made House squirm. How did Wilson come up with some of this? Yeesh.

_I was really getting impatient by the time he woke up. I told him not to try to talk. I told him not to worry or to move. I said he was going to be in an accident. He gave me this confused look and he tried to open his mouth. I smiled at him and let him reason out for himself that he was helpless. _

_He didn't have any wisecracks to make now. He kept any idle speculations to himself. Well he had to, didn't he? I grabbed on of his right big toe to get his attention. He was looking at me with panic-strickened eyes. I let go of his toe and then very delicately tickled the bottom of his foot._

House was completely confused. You drug me, glue me, tie me up, and then get your revenge by tickling me? I'm scared!

_He tried to pull away. He couldn't, but then he suddenly relaxed. I wasn't sure what to think of it at first, but I realized he was trying to even smile. He was making a sound like a muffled giggle._

I don't giggle!

_I asked him if he'd been scared by my little joke. He nodded. He looked relieved. I let him think that for a moment. Then I pinched the bottom of his foot. I told him I wasn't joking. I said I appreciated all the attention he pays my feet, but it was time for him to be concerned about his own. I picked up the scalpel and showed it to him. I warned him that this was going to hurt. I made the first cut quickly right down the center. He tried to recoil. I feigned an apology and told him that I didn't mean to do that. I grabbed his left foot. "Since you already have a bad right leg, I really should concentrate on your left foot to help even you out." I slashed the bottom of his left foot blindly and then watched a red diagonal line appear. _

Again with the torture! Couldn't he just kill me?

_I injected House with heparin and waited a few minutes before making another cut. He was writhing in pain as much as the restraints would let him. His toes were more sensitive than I expected. I spent a lot of time on each one. Even cutting the tops of his toes seemed to cause him excruciating pain. But, as could be expected, he was getting use to it. As somebody in chronic pain only sudden pain seemed to really get his attention. I explained that I had to make due with what I could find. Luckily the cafeteria was still opened. He looked at me questioningly. I think if he could have talked he would have criticized me for not being better prepared._

Damn straight, I would!

_I held out a lemon wedge to him. He didn't seem concerned with it. _

Yeah yeah yeah. Lemon juice on the cuts. Got it.

_I moved up to the head of the bed and grabbed his face. I squeezed the lemon into his eyes. He closed his eyes and tried to hold them tightly shut. I ground the lemon against his lids. His eyes shot open in pain. He looked so ridiculous I started laughing. _

Arg! My eyes! House had a whole body shiver. It was like Wilson knew how to get to him.

_I waited for the stinging in his eyes to stop or at least for him to get use to it before I took another lemon wedge and rubbed it against the cuts on the top of his toes. Turned out - that was really bad. I gave up waiting for him to stop twitching his foot around and slid the lemon against the bottom of his foot. The juice mixed with the blood and gave me the idea to clean the blood away with the lemon. Some of the blood had dried so I had to rub it hard against some of the cuts. I told him how this reminded me of this exfoliate treatment Bonnie use to use. I told him that gave me a great idea. I didn't have a pumice stone, but I did have lemon wedges and salt. I used the wedges to push the salt deeper into the cuts. His body contorted like he was vomiting. With his mouth glued shut that couldn't be pleasant. I let him rest for a bit while I went for some coffee. It was getting close to midnight and I was getting tired._

You poor thing! Cutting my feet sounds like hard work!

_When I came back he wasn't looking too good. I took some scissors and cut up the seam of his left pant leg to just below the knee. I explained to him that I didn't want to cause him any more pain so I was going to make it all go away. I told him about a case study I read once where a man cut his saphenous vein and how it took hours for him to bleed to death. I was pretty sure we could beat that record. I expected him to struggle or groan or something, but he didn't It was like he'd stopped fighting, gave up. I decided that killing him would truly be a kindness._

_I started the incision at the medial epicedial and made a cut about 10 centimeters long. I had planned to go knee to ankle, but it didn't seem necessary. He bled to death in less than an hour. Impressive! But then I had a moment of regret._

You'd better believe you'd regret killing me!

_By gluing his mouth shut I robbed him, well the world really, of his pithy last words. As I said - it was only a moment of regret._

Bastard! He'd have some great last words! House spent the rest of the night reading and trying to construct his last words. By the time he made it through Wilson Torturing House Scenario 12 he decided two things. One - Wilson had a fertile, twisted imagination, but went for cutting off his senses too much. Speech, hearing, vision - it became formulaic after awhile. Two - he was glad Wilson had left him blank pages.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: A Man of Letters

Chapter 3: The Big Black Book … OF WILSON'S DEATH!!! 

Wilson woke up without the hangover he had expected. Besides a little grogginess and a slight headache he felt fine. Then he remembered House had spent the night. Wilson wondered if House was up yet and if he had found the journal. He hoped his home hadn't been torn to shreds. He sheepishly opened the door expecting to see feathers from pillows still floating down and overturned furniture blocking the hall. It looked fine. He walked into the living room. Everything was fine. Wilson went into the kitchen and was surprised, but pleased to find all the cutlery still in drawers and the pots in cabinets. Everything seemed to be in place except House. Normally Wilson would have found House still asleep on the couch or watching television. Finally Wilson found a note glued to the refrigerator. He wondered what made House the kind of person who couldn't simply use a post it or refrigerator magnet.

"Couldn't sleep. Went to work." Wilson wondered if House had found the journal and got upset and left or if he hadn't found the journal and left in frustration. He was sure House hadn't just got up and left. Insomnia? Sure. Going to work? Never. He went straight to the bookcase. He quickly found the journal right where he hid it. He put the books back in front of it and decided he had done a better job hiding it than he had thought. When House came back looking for it, and he would keep looking for it, he wanted him to find it where he hadn't already searched. No point making him wonder if he overlooked it. With an extra bounce of superiority in his step, Wilson began his morning ritual.

While House wasn't known for impulse control, he could be patient when he had to be. For example, if he had to patiently wait for the payoff of a joke he could do it. Of course, it helped if he could see the joke unfold and develop a life of its own prior to the payoff. And if the payoff didn't take too long. And if he had other things to keep him busy. So, he assured himself, it wasn't because he lacked self control or was impatient that he paid the cashier in the cafeteria to knock over Wilson's drink splattering all over his pants. He was just bored. The extra 10 he gave her was for managing to get soda on Wilson's shirt and tie, as well. That was just fun. His mocking of Wilson was partially for sport, but all of it was part of "the plan". Stealing Wilson's backup tie was just a coincidence since he did that a week ago. That's when he replaced Wilson's backup to his backup tie with a bolo. Some days things came together so perfectly even House had to wonder if there was some magic pixie putting things in motion after all. House, looking particularly predatory, waited in his office for Wilson. He could almost feel Wilson seething through the wall.

Wilson looked at the bolo tie with the bull riding cowboy on it and for a brief moment wished he was the type of person who could get away with wearing anything stamped "Championship Rodeo" and get away with it. He wondered where House even found things like this. He could just see House wearing it and telling some unsuspecting patient that he hurt his leg "ridin' the bulls". Wilson hated that he found something endearing about that. But, he thought, that won't stop me from killing him with this ugly bolo later.

Then his thoughts went back to the cashier in the cafeteria as he changed his clothes. If he didn't know better he'd think she did that on purpose. No, he decided. She seemed like a nice lady. Her apology could have been a little more sincere. Had she meant it? It was almost like she was laughing at him instead of giggling out of embarrassment for her clumsiness. He pulled out a desk drawer. This was a perfect situation for what House called his Little Black Book of Death. He smirked at the thought. He was tempted to take his bottle of white out and paint a skull and crossbones on the cover. That would make House laugh the next time he took a peek.

Wilson stopped cold. Somebody, and he could just imagine who that somebody was, had scribbled in his book! He flipped though the pages. That somebody had filled several pages. House couldn't be happy just being nosy or mocking him. No, not House. He was probably upset he couldn't find the other journal so he came in early to defile this one. Wilson was going to have plenty to write in that journal when he got home! Another part of Wilson was pleased. Frustrating House meant he scored a point in their endless game. And there was always the chance that he would gain some new insight by what House wrote. Not, he reminded himself, that he didn't already know the man inside out. This was really typical of him. Predictable even. He should have known he wouldn't be able to leave this as Wilson's. Isn't that what he was really saying in the cafeteria? He wanted to share Wilson's "little murder fantasies". That was House code for "look at me me me me". Heaven forbid he should have anything in his life that didn't include House!

Whoa, he thought, let it go. Calm down. You saw it coming. You just didn't think he could write anything that wasn't on a white board. Wilson looked at the first entry. And apparently House couldn't write. Luckily he had learned to read Housian script over the years, but even so it wasn't easy.

_She came into the clinic. That was reason enough to want her dead. Then I was in the clinic and that was reason enough to want everybody dead._

Wilson smiled in spite of his anger at House. He could see House scaring the patients in the waiting area into leaving.

_She had a stuffy nose. I, the world's greatest diagnostician, had to tell this idiot she had a cold. And, of course, she thought it was more than just a cold because…well, because she was an accountant and accountants have special Jedi skills that keep them from getting things as common as the common cold. It was pretty cool how I figured out she was an accountant…but that's a tale for a different time._

Wilson chuckled. He imagined House sitting at his desk, chewing on his bottom lip and trying to keep on topic. He tried not to think of it as being cute. He did try.

_So doctor in training accountant lady points out that I haven't even looked at her nose. Since she pointed it out I decided I should show her my point. I told her to lean her head back and I pulled out an ear currette. I delicately inserted it in her left nostril. I warned her this might hurt a little. I pushed the currette up and through her ethmoid bone into her brain. There was a little more resistance than I expected, but I'd never done this on a live person before. She didn't even have time to scream. The dumb bitch probably would have told me I was killing her wrong. It turned out her cold was fatal._

Wilson found that disturbing not because of the violence, but because he could see House snapping and killing a clinic patient. He reread it. Yep. Doctor in training accountant lady was damn lucky he only killed her in fiction. He wondered if House thought about these things when he was treating the patient. Wilson would replay incidents over and over. He knew House would obsess over things, but he was pretty sure he never gave clinic patients or other people he considered idiots more than a passing thought.

_Cuddy called me into her office and, like the obedient professional I am, immediately dropped everything to go see her._

Oh brother!

_I respectfully knocked on her door and she screamed for me to enter. The blinds were all drawn. She stood up and told me to lock the door. I was concerned she was ill. I thought she might want a medical exam and was too embarrassed to go through the clinic with her STD. Maybe she decided to try in vitro again. Maybe she needed some hormone shots to help her keep up her female façade._

He wondered if this was based on a real event. Well, real besides the politely going to Cuddy's office and House's contention that she's a she-male or transsexual. And possibly the STD.

_She sat on her couch and patted the cushion next to her. "House, Greg, please, sit down," she huffed like an emphysema patient. As a loyal and respectful employee I did as she asked. Maybe that was a naïve thing to do, but I trusted her._

Wilson almost shot coffee out his nose. He bet House stopped being "naïve" around 2 and he was pretty sure he was born without the "trust" gene.

_I sat down and she began to paw me like some kind of in heat wildebeest. I tried to explain to her that I respected her as an employee, a colleague even, but she didn't seem to listen. Maybe if I'd been more forceful, more direct…well, there's no point speculating. It just isn't in my character to speak up especially around someone I view as an authority figure - a big figure. I'm so ashamed of myself! I let her take advantage of me. Three times. On the couch, on her desk, and finally up against he book shelf. _

Three times? He hadn't mentioned the bucket of Viagra she slipped him.

_I was trying to get dressed, sobbing, when she told me how I'd better not tell anybody and even if I did nobody would believe a dirty slut like me._

She's right - nobody would believe this. Where are the details? Wilson was going to explain to House that he needed to build a fuller narrative and he could start by explaining in detail exactly how Cuddy took "advantage" of him. Three times. Wilson shook the image out of his head and mentally filed it for future use. Now where was he? Oh yes. House was a dirty slut. Another image he'd keep for future use.

_She wasn't going to let this be a one time thing. It had been too good. She was going to keep me as her plaything. She laughed at me as I stood there feeling worthless and used. As she looked at me all smug and powerful something in me just snapped. I pulled the heavy shelves over on top of her. I could hear Cuddy gurgling and part of me wanted to help her, I really am a compassionate person, but I was too numb to move. She stopped making any sound and I knew she was dead. I cried because even though I was safe from her and nobody would care that she was dead, Cuddy was a human being and I had taken an oath to preserve life, even hers. I looked down at her as I was leaving and couldn't help but think of a simpler time in my life and the Wizard of Oz - another witch who had a heavy wooden object crush her._

Wilson was giggling uncontrollably. He flipped through and noted that House managed to kill Taub, Foreman, 13, Cameron, Carl in accounting - did House have a vendetta against accountants? - and in a giant blood bath everyone who ever entered the hospital was killed except House and "_my good friend Jimmy_". Wilson was surprised House hadn't killed him. Then again, he had set a precedent by not killing House in this book.

He took the book with him while he did his rounds and was caught reading and smirking several times by a candy striper he'd killed twice already and a nurse he hadn't paid too much attention to until House decapitated her using only piano wire and his "_master grasp of physics_". He couldn't look at her without turning bright red and pursing his lips to keep quiet. It was apparently an attractive look and she accidentally ran into him several times until her phone number magically appeared in his shirt pocket. He'd have to kill her himself when he got a chance.

Having survived the afternoon, Wilson picked up the bolo tie and headed to House's office. House was playing a video game with his feet propped up on the television. Classic "I'm not waiting to see your reaction pose" pose! Oh Wilson knew him too well!

"I thought I'd stop by to make sure you hadn't been molested or," Wilson made a show of opening the journal and reading, "snapped 13's neck just to see the look on Foreman's face." House favored him with one of his precious smiles.

"I'm good, but I'm guessing a certain cashier might be the worse for wear." Wilson wondered how somebody at House's age, with his facial hair and graying temples, could suddenly look like a mischievous 9 year-old.

"Not yet, but I fear your prognosis is not only dire, but accurate. Oh, and thanks for this," Wilson said throwing the bolo at House. "I'm not really the Country Western type. I was thinking of re-gifting it to Taub." House easily caught the tie and admired it. It was a thing of tacky beauty.

"I suppose you'll use it to garrote me later. Or maybe you could tie it to keep my gag in place." One of Wilson's eyes twitched.

"Gag?" He swallowed as if he was wearing a gag. House continued smiling.

"Just don't touch my ears again. That wasn't funny." House made an exaggerated frown before taking his forefingers to mime drawing a frown over it. Wilson felt his face catch fire and he lost feeling in his hands. He tried to concentrate on breathing, but realized he wasn't. He finally inhaled deeply and felt himself chocking on the exhale.

"You found **the** book…" Wilson couldn't say anything else. House gave him his most predatory smile.

"Oh yes. I found **the** book. I might have added an entry or two last night when I couldn't sleep." The mischievous 9 year-old morphed into a 16 year-old sadist right before Wilson's eyes.

"Gotta go," Wilson said as one syllable already half out the door.

"Let me know what you think," House shouted after him. He was thoroughly enjoying this new game.

Wilson didn't like the game House was playing. It was bad enough he had read the journals, but now he wrote in them! What if he found the other journal? Wilson wondered when he developed asthma as he huffed and puffed his way to his car. He popped the trunk and pushed aside his hand crank radio, the 2 gallon jugs of water, and energy bars to lift the flap covering the spare tire. He was in a frenzy, but stopped when he saw the journal was still there. He flipped to the last page. He relaxed. House hadn't found this one. At least it wasn't as bad as he feared. He wasn't going to let that one out of his sight for moment! Still upset that House had read his murder fantasies with House as the victim, he drove a steady 5 miles above the speed limit home. House had driven him to driving like a maniac!

Retrieving the journal, Wilson's mood turned from frenzied to pensive. Why was he letting House get to him like this? He'd spent two days on an emotional rollercoaster and he was the first to say his tracks weren't exactly even lately. Maybe he didn't need to read what House wrote. Wouldn't that drive House crazy, he thought tucking the journal under his arm while he opened a bottle of beer. House would be dying to hear Wilson's reaction and he would say something like "Sorry. Haven't gotten around to it yet." Yeah! He'd say that in his best casual voice and raise his eyebrows just enough to make it look like he's surprised House is asking since he had totally forgot about it!

That plan lasted all of 22 seconds after he finished formulating it. He made a mental note to lecture House about his impulse control issues to make up for his own failings. That always made him feel better. Wilson ran his fingers through his hair. He wasn't sure why he was so concerned about how House planned to kill him - at least not until he phrased it that way. Telling himself he was being unnecessarily neurotic, he opened the book where the yellow ribbon was placed.

_I wasn't sure I could go through with it, but I'd dreamed of destroying him for so long I had to take the opportunity - a dream come true, a fantasy realized._

Wilson snorted. House, the psychotic romantic, waxing poet at killing his only friend!

_He was asleep at his desk. I could tell he'd been there all night. Who was he trying to impress? Me? I didn't care. Cuddy? She wouldn't notice. He was probably too scared to go home where there was no one to greet him, no lover to hold him, nobody to need him._

That's a bit low, House! So what if I'm sitting here alone reading this! I could have somebody here if I wanted. I have people I could call. Wilson pulled out the phone number the annoying nurse had tucked into his shirt pocket. Right here I have proof people want to be around me!

_I'd almost call it a mercy killing, but I felt no mercy for him. I was putting __myself__ out of his misery. It's not that I always hated him. What am I saying? That makes it sound like I once liked him. I'm sure he felt that way. He never was one to pick up subtle clues._

Wilson felt a knot in his stomach. Was this a "_subtle clue_" from House?

_I'm not a cruel man._

Like hell!

_I wasn't going to torture him or beat him. He deserved it, but I'm better than that and he wasn't worth the effort. _

Yes. St. Gregory the Compassionate.

_I went to my office and unlocked the emergency stash of morphine I keep there._

That better be a fiction. I'm searching his office tomorrow.

_He didn't move when I entered his office. He was snoring - probably from how his head had fallen back. It was an ugly sound to go with the ugly scene and the uglier man. He should have been a wank stain instead of a person._

Wank stain? Ewww!

_He made a particularly loud snuffling kind of snore…_

Snuffling?

…_and I thought he was going to wake up. God knows it was loud enough to wake the dead. Apparently not loud enough to wake the soon to be dead. I made some gentle shushing sounds and softly told him to stay asleep using my most gentle, calming voice._

Wilson closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. At least when he killed House he didn't make himself sound like Mr. Perfect. Or did he? Crap. He'd have to reread what he had written.

_I couldn't risk him waking up so I took the syringe and jabbed it into his jugular. He drowsily opened his eyes. He was drunk! Why did that not surprise me?_

It surprises me.

_I pushed the entire syringe and followed it with a second. He passed peacefully which seemed ironic to me considering how he lived. I left him there, still looking like he was sleeping, for his team to find. I wondered if they'd even consider murder or simply conclude he had finally OD'd like the pathetic junkie everyone knew he was._

That didn't sound right. His team? Junkie? He reread the story. House was the victim! Did that mean I killed him? Well, not I like me, but I like House as me? Wilson was glad he was still on his first beer or his brain might have boiled away to nothing at that thought. He turned the page to House's next entry.

_I hated House. _

That cleared up the victim question.

_I spent years waiting for him to die. It was uncanny how he continually lived. I can't even count the number of close calls he had, but none of them punched his ticket._

There's an antiquated phrase. Should it be "tear his ticket"? "Scanned his ticket"?

_Finally I got tired of watching him slowly kill himself with only glimpses of his demise taunting me. That's when I bought the "Bombs for Dummies" book._

Ok, Wilson admitted. That was kind of funny.

_I'm only an oncologist so I'm not, what's the word, useful? Handy? I had to go to House, since he is the smartest person I've ever known, and ask his help. I told him I needed the bomb for Cameron because she wanted to kill Chase. I knew he'd believe that because he knows how annoying that accent can get and he knew I was secretly in love with her._

Ugh! The evil that man's mind could conjure was disturbing!

_After building the bomb I told him Cameron wanted it to have a pressure sensor like at the haunted house so when Chase stepped on it __**BLAM!!**__ He said that was simple enough and said a bunch of stuff about it that I, clearly, couldn't hope to begin to dream to possibly pretend to understand. I took the bomb and trigger to his apartment while Cuddy had him slaving in the Clinic. I only wished I could see it! I imagined he'd walk in, take three steps, and place his cane right on top of the sensor. He'd hear the click and with his laser sharp mind realize in that split second that I had killed him with the very device he so brilliantly fashioned. Then __**BLAM!!**_

I guess it's a good thing House is such a genius that he could help poor, stupid me with the tricky stuff!

_I waited to hear the news report of an explosion. Nothing. I drove by on the way to work. The building looked fine. How could that be? I parked and ran up to his door. I knocked. He didn't answer. He was probably still asleep. Why be on time when you can be late? I let myself in and carefully avoided the trap. I studied the placement. There was no way he could casually come in and not step on it. I went back to his bedroom and knocked. He didn't answer. I opened the door. No House. I didn't know what to think of that. I heard the front door open. I jogged out and saw House hesitantly looking around from the doorway, before seeing me._

"_James, my friend! I was afraid somebody broke in to my humble home!" I questioned where he'd been. He had spent the evening with several nubile, busty, blonde, open-minded young women, the kind who were always throwing themselves at him, and came home to get ready for work. Before I could stop him, he stepped forward onto the sensor. It clicked and he looked at me and smiled. He knew I had killed him, but he couldn't hold it against me. __**BLAM!!**__The explosion killed him instantly. Unfortunately for me, the blast sent me backwards and knocked me unconscious. The next thing I remember was the pain. I was burned over 80% of my body. I had held my hands up to the blast and that saved half of my face, but cost me three fingers on my left hand. _

Ouch!

_If only House hadn't been so skillful maybe the bomb wouldn't have worked so well. I might still be forced to see him every day, but at least I'd be able to see out of two working eyes._

He maimed me! That bastard! That wasn't fair.

_My only consolation is dear, Sweet Cameron. She quit her job to take care of me full time. We're never apart. 24 hours a day. Every day. Cameron. _

Wilson laughed. He didn't just maim me he made me pray for death!

He turned the page and was surprised to see a stick figure House being hanged by what he guessed was a stick figure him. It was funny in it's pure silliness. Wilson was glad to see House was a horrible artist, but less happy to note the goofy, joyous smile on the face of Stick Wilson in contrast to Stick House's straight line mouth. Stick Wilson was happy and Stick House was resigned. Wilson admonished himself for reading too much into the bad drawings of a disturbed mind.

_House wrote in my diary! I am sooooo mad!_

It's not a diary! It's a Black Book of Death!

_I'm going to run my fingers through my hair until I pull it all out! Then I'm going to go into work tomorrow and try to not say anything, but I won't be able to keep that up for long. I'll end up standing in his office with my arms akimbo waiting for him to apologize. Of course he won't because he doesn't see anything wrong with it. Then he'll change the topic and I'll drop it because that's what always happens. House will never change. I don't know why I didn't give up on him a long time ago. It's not like he appreciates any of the things I do for him like listening to his endless pontifications on human nature, letting him steal my food, keeping him from spending every moment alone, nagging him to get a social life, baiting him into trying new things…_

Was House saying he did appreciate him by saying he doesn't appreciate him? That was unexpected. It was nice in a House kind of way. Or was he mocking him for thinking House should appreciate him? Wilson decided to take the less likely grateful House option and move on.

He was relaxed enough now to get another beer and chuckle at his own anxiety. Sure he was disappointed House hadn't killed him, but in another way he was glad. He flipped a few pages. In a way it was charming that House had let him live especially considering the number of pages he'd written. Wilson skimmed through looking for something less bloody to read.

…_arterial spray…wiped the bloody soles of my shoes on House's corpse…blood spatter…holding Foreman's decapitated, bloody head aloft in victory…dripping gore…entrails and assorted viscera…_

House certainly had a colorful way of writing, Wilson mused. Then he stopped short.

_I'd been in love with Greg for so long losing him was like losing a limb._

Oh dear god.

_But it was over. He didn't love me. He probably wasn't capable of love. Thinking of all the times he said he did and realizing it was all a lie was what really put me over the edge. I won't lie. Part of what led me to the realization was his unbearable neediness. I was losing valuable time I could have spent obsessing over my hair and shopping for the latest in blow drying technology. Was I suppose to drop everything in my life to help tend to a man who didn't care who it was fluffing his pillow as long as it got fluffed? _

So I was a fluffer. Leave it to House.

_I had a case once where a manufacturing employee was poisoned by cadmium. He'd lived, but only after a kidney transplant. It had been a miracle he hadn't died. He probably would have if his wife hadn't been so insistent he stay home from work with his "flu" and then bullied him to a doctor when he wasn't getting better. I made a few inquiries under the guise of a new case and found a supply of cadmium dust. _

_I wasn't sure how much it would take. I didn't want to give him so much that it looked like he was poisoned. Everybody knew he had left the hospital too soon after surgery. I hoped it could be attributed to that. So I started with a very small amount. Like my client, he developed flu like symptoms. That was when I made my mistake._

Shock! I screwed up trying to kill him!

_I called James and told him not to come over because Greg had some kind of bug. _

Wait. What? I called myself?

_That was stupid. From the moment he heard Greg had the infarction, James had been there almost constantly. Now he wasn't just going to be a nuisance. What if he realized Greg didn't just have the flu? Greg I could keep drugged up, but James was another story entirely. James said he'd be right over to make sure Greg was doing okay. _

Wilson re-read it. Case, client, martyr - it wasn't him. It was Stacy. He wished House would stop teasing him like that.

_I mixed the cadmium in with some warm milk and forced Greg to drink it. If that amount didn't kill the bastard I'd beat him to death with his golf clubs. Either way he wouldn't be using them again. _

_As soon as James saw him he said he was taking him back to the hospital. I told him Greg had specifically said he didn't want to go to the hospital. He had said he just needed to sleep to regain his strength and he'd be fine. James said he didn't care. He wasn't going to be swayed. While he leaned over Greg I grabbed one of the titanium clubs and swung it hard into James' head. I don't know how many times I hit him, but I remember stopping when I saw bits of his brain flying against the wall. I heard Greg gasping for air. He died moments later with James spread across him. I had no idea what I was going to tell the police._

She killed me! He wrote Stacy killing me and him! Way to switch it up, House! Man!

Wilson stayed up much later than he planned reading and in some cases rereading House's entries. Mostly he laughed. He tried not to over think or analyze what House wrote. It was tough not to, but he didn't want to think about House wanting himself dead or feeling that his death would bring Wilson some kind of joy or relief. He pushed those thoughts aside and focused on this being entertainment not clinical evidence of a death wish. He fell asleep holding the journal with it's shiny, gilded pages and bright yellow ribbon.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: A Man of Letters

Chapter 4: The Little Pink Book … OF HOUSE!!!

House looked like he was on the south side of a three day bender. To be fair, he had perfected the look through years of hard work and practice. He was so accomplished at it he was able to achieve it just by spending an evening not sleeping on Wilson's couch and then sleeping all too briefly on his own. After being up all the night before writing murder fantasies he should have gone home and gone to bed. Instead he sat up on the sofa expecting Wilson to come over. He thought Wilson would read House's additions to his House Murder Diary, overanalyze them, and rush to House's apartment to make sure he was safe and not any more self-destructive than usual.

He dozed off at some point and woke up in the kind of pain only his sofa or a very expensive professional specializing in the Marquis de Sade style could create. Normally he would pop an extra pill and crawl into bed until Cuddy sent somebody to drag him into work or Wilson stopped by to see if he was dead. House wouldn't deny a certain appeal to a Wilson safety check, but since Wilson hadn't shown up last night he probably wouldn't be the first one to try to wake the bear. He would go to his office and wait for Wilson to get there. He worried what people would think if they saw him coming in early two days in a row, but he'd make up for it by loudly leaving early. He'd go in, set up surveillance, and wait for Wilson. Operation Anne Frank was still in effect! He would have to use his eagle eyes and wits to find a watching perch where he could have line of sight while keeping perfectly camouflaged. Game. On.

Wilson wasn't sure what he was going to say to House, but he was not going to be "_standing in his office with my arms akimbo waiting for him to apologize." _First of all, he did not stand with his arms akimbo. Ok, he thought, besides how I'm standing right now I don't stand with my arms akimbo. Second, Wilson didn't want an apology. He wished House could learn how to respect other people's privacy the way he guarded his own, but Wilson was more than a little amused by what House had written. Wilson was mainly relieved that House had discovered a mystery and solved it. House had found his secret journal, The Little Black Book of Death, and then ferreted out Wilson's covert secret journal, The Big Black Book of Death. Wilson would be mortified if House ever found his undercover, super secret journal and that was never going to happen because Wilson was never letting it out of his sight. Ever. House had already solved the mystery so he would be pleased for a while. Hopefully he'd even let the whole topic of the books fade away. He spent most of the drive to PPTH playing out in his mind what he would do. Unfortunately his mind kept leading him to things he was definitely not going to do in real life. He really needed to talk to his shrink about this whole journaling thing.

Wilson noticed House's jacket hanging in the corner before he reached House's office. He alternated between hating and loving the glass walls in the hospital. He always thought it was strange that House's office had the most transparency while his had the least. He was sure there was some kind of subconscious metaphor at work there, but at the moment he was too busy trying to peek through the glass without being seen to think about it. Wilson stood on the balls of his feet and tried to look through the glass conference room into House's office. He couldn't tell if House was in his office or not. He walked closer, hunched down, and cautiously peeked at the office. He still couldn't tell if House was at his desk. He squatted down and tried to get a better angle. He wondered if House knew how difficult it was to see in without being seen in the process. He would bet his favorite omelet pan he did.

"What ya looking at," asked a voice close behind him. Wilson tried to turn and stand up at the same time and only succeeded in falling over. Kutner quickly jumped to his aid and helped Wilson up.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Kutner apologized. Wilson struggled not to die from the adrenalin and embarrassment cocktail.

"Not a problem," Wilson huffed unconsciously grabbing his chest. "I was just trying to, um…" Suddenly Wilson felt ridiculous. "…you see, House…" Each way he thought to explain himself sounded worse. Why was he explaining anything to Kutner anyway?

"Oh, I get it! You wanted to see if he's in there! Are you pulling a joke on him?" Kutner's face lit up. Wilson smiled.

"Not exactly. It's in the planning phase. Could you take a look and tell me if he's in there?" Kutner jogged to House's door and then back to Wilson. Wilson had always thought of Kutner as being a happy person, but seeing how thrilled he was just to look in an office he realized he had underestimated his general enthusiasm.

"He's in there, but he's asleep at his desk. What are we going to do?" A dozen different ideas ran through Wilson's brain none of which were Kutner appropriate.

"I haven't worked the details out, but I can depend on you when the time comes, right?" If there were a way to harness Kutner's beaming the energy crisis would be solved.

"Absolutely! I'm your man!" Wilson smiled at his infectious excitement. That must drive House crazy, he thought. Wilson nodded and held a finger up to his lips.

"Just between us," he said.

"On the QT and very hush-hush," Kutner said before bouncing towards the elevators.

Now Wilson felt obligated to come up with a Kutner-friendly prank. He wondered when he had time to be a doctor anymore. He walked past House's office and stopped briefly to look at House sleeping in his chair. How could somebody so suspicious of everyone and everything fall asleep in public? Not that Wilson was complaining. He liked being able to look at him without having those laser eyes examining him back. He could look at his mouth without House questioning his motives. He could stare at his neck…and imagine him killing House. Damn him for writing that in his journal! Now instead of imagining a tongue tasting House's exposed neck he was thinking about somebody jabbing a needle in it with a syringe of morphine.

Wilson quietly entered House's office and went to his desk. He stooped down until he was roughly at eye level with House. He wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do until he did it. Wilson's left hand reached out and ghosted along House's beard. House jostled slightly and his head turned slightly more to his left. Wilson leaned in closer and poised his hand next to House's neck. He held his breath, smiled, held back a chortle, and flicked his neck with his middle finger. House jolted awake and grabbed the desk to keep from toppling him and his chair over. Wilson began laughing which made House give him one of his iciest stabbing stares. Anyone else would have cowered and ran, but Wilson laughed harder.

"Are you trying to scare me to death? You'd like that wouldn't you," House griped roughly. Wilson stopped laughing as his worries from the night before resurfaced. Did House really think he wanted him dead?

"No. No! I wasn't trying to scare you to death. I was trying to kill you with an overdose of morphine. I wasn't _really_ trying to kill you, but you wrote that in my book and then I saw you here asleep…" Wilson was struggling now and wished he'd not given in to the impulse. House glowered at him and then smiled.

"I wasn't asleep! I was in deep thought, very deep. So, did you like the bomb? I tried to give you a happy ending. Well, I tried to get Cameron to give you a happy ending." House smirked.

"Thanks for that mental image, by the way. I'm sending you the bill for my brain bleaching."

"What about Stacy killing us both?" House seemed eager for Wilson's approval. Wilson wasn't sure how to take that. Did he want a pat on the head or praise for his suicidal writings? Wilson wished he could make himself stop thinking like that.

"Very imaginative! I hope you don't have plans for a murder/suicide pact." House smiled and shook his head.

"Nah. That's too high school for me. Then again, if you really did kill me we both know you wouldn't be able to live with yourself."

"Oh really, and what about you? You couldn't bring yourself to kill me so you had to write Stacy doing it." House started objecting immediately.

"No. You have one book about killing other people and another about killing me. I couldn't very well write about your death in my death book. That wouldn't make any sense." Wilson had to admire House's logic.

"I could buy you your own journal and you could do away with me on your own terms." Wilson smiled fondly at his curmudgeon. He had to have a long talk with himself one day about thinking of House so possessively. He was everybody's curmudgeon. Mine. Wilson was sure his thoughts were written all over his face and he was glad House was too distracted to notice.

"Why would I need my own journal when I can read your diary?" House saw a quick cascade of emotions cross over Wilson's face. He wasn't good at reading Wilson. He could tell when there was something, but he couldn't quite figure out the something. It made Wilson fascinating and a constant mystery. "Beside, I'm not a good enough writer to kill you. It was all I could do to write Stacy doing it." Did that sound like a reassuring friend? Was that what Wilson wanted to hear? He should have kept his mouth shut.

"You did a pretty good job killing yourself." Wilson groaned internally. He really needed to stop using the words "killing" and "yourself" in the same sentence around House. He could feel his ulcer growing every time. Wilson groaned to himself again when he replayed what House had said.

"It wasn't easy killing you either, House…" He was cut off by House's grim chuckle.

"Yes it was. It is. I'm an ass. I'm just glad you haven't tried it in real life." House gave Wilson a very serious look. "You haven't, right? I'm not here today only because you couldn't get your hands on enough C-4, am I?" House broke into another smile. Not for the first time Wilson wished he had hidden a camera in House's office.

"I'm not done torturing you yet," Wilson said resisting the urge to wink.

"That's good." House made an exaggerated pensive look. "Come to think of it, you haven't even tied me up yet." House gave him a wicked smile. Wilson's face turned red and House wished, not for the first time, that he had a hidden camera in his office.

Wilson tried to find a way of not asking House if he'd like him to tie him up, but was thankfully interrupted by 13 who couldn't wait to tell House that he was wrong about their last patient. Wilson raised his eyebrows and gave House a sympathetic look before making a swift exit and finally getting to his office.

Wilson tried to concentrate on the budget. He felt like he was trying a lot lately and not getting anything accomplished. He looked at the spreadsheet. He needed coffee if he was going to get through this. Wilson turned back to his desk looking for Dr. Hunyen's numbers. He picked up everything twice looking for the piece of paper Hunyen couldn't simply email him. Hunyen was going to be a Little Black Book victim very soon. He opened his briefcase and found Hunyen's numbers under his journal - his super-secret-House-must-never-see journal.

"You haven't tied me up yet," Wilson mimicked. That's why he couldn't concentrate. Fucking House! Well, Wilson added, there's a phrase that lends itself to many different intonations and meanings. He bet House had heard that a few times. He looked at the journal and thought about writing that down before remembering he had promised himself not to write in this journal here. Last time House had spotted it and he promised to never write at work again. Besides, it would just add to the distraction House already caused. Then again, he rationalized, hadn't his therapist said to write down his feelings and fantasies, get them out of his mind and onto the paper? It was too early for a coffee break, but that just meant he'd have the cafeteria to himself. His fingers caressed the book's black cover. So he'd break the promise he made to himself again. He'd have a long discussion with House about the importance of keeping promises. Discussion, lecture; toma'to, tomato'.

Wilson was in his own little world in no time. His ten minute "quick coffee break" had expanded to 20. He wouldn't have noticed the time if House hadn't dropped into the booth across from him.

Panic alert! Deja freaking vu. Wilson slammed the book close and tried to compose an innocent expression. The problem with this, of course, is really innocent people look like ordinary people. They don't realize there is a question of guilt. Wilson looked like he had broken his grandmother's heirloom vase and was hoping to hide it until he had time to glue it back together. This did not go unnoticed by House.

"Somebody's jumpy," House said intently observing Wilson's reaction.

"I was just, uh, well, you know…" Wilson stammered before House broke into a smile.

"Oh relax! I recognize the book. What are you doing to me?" Wilson felt like his tongue was swelling up and his airway was closing. He knew he wasn't lucky enough to have a severe allergic reaction to embarrassing questions, but at times like this it would have come in handy to end a conversation. Then again, with House around he'd have to spend the rest of his life with an EpiPen in his pocket.

"I'm, ah, not doing anything," Wilson said innocently, further heightening House's suspicions.

"Wilson, seriously, it's okay. I'm fine with you killing me. There is no reason to hide it. Let me see," he said reaching for the journal.

"No!" Wilson placed a protective talon like death grip on the book. House's suspicion looked down on the hospital as it soared into the stratosphere.

"It's not done," Wilson said slowly. House nodded just as slowly.

"Then I'll wait until you're done to read it." Wilson sucked on the inside of his lips in a reverse pout.

"Sure. I have to go. I'm running late. Busy doctor stuff," Wilson babbled even as he wondered if he could put any more unnecessary, inarticulate words together before going. He decided he couldn't and turned to leave.

"Wilson," House called after he'd taken all of five steps.

All Wilson needed now was a way to turn invisible. Since he didn't have any secret mutant super powers, he turned around and with an affectation he hoped sounded casual asked, "Yeah, House?"

"You forgot your coffee." Wilson hesitated, but walked back to the table.

This was why writing in this journal at work was banned, he scolded himself. He picked up the cup and made a toasting gesture at House before slowly turning and walking away at what he hoped wasn't a rushed pace. He left the cafeteria secure in the knowledge he had played that perfectly so House couldn't possibly suspect anything.

House suspected something was up, but he wasn't sure what or who Wilson was hiding. Then Wilson returned for the cup and House found a big clue in the form of a red silk place holder sticking out of the journal. So Wilson was keeping another secret journal, he thought. Interesting. Based on the super slow motion walk Wilson took out of the cafeteria it must be really bad or really good. He began plotting the next phase of Operation: Anne Frank codenamed "Pepys".

Step 1: Surveillance

"10:07, Friday morning, overcast skies with an 80% chance of showers. The subject has yet to release the MacGuffin. I think it must be of even greater importance than I had previously believed. I must retrieve the item at any cost."

House hit the stop then rewind buttons on the pocket mini cassette recorder. It had taken him 90 minutes to find it, then 10 more to find a mini cassette. It took another 30 for him to diagnose the reason it wasn't working involved a lack of batteries. He decided Cuddy should buy him a new digital one, but since this was the first time in three years he'd used it, and he was House, he needed it now. He told Kutner to fill out the requisition form and take care of it. He knew Kutner would either fill out the form or buy him one and claim he got it through the proper channels. Either way he'd get a new toy.

House hit play and listened to his voice critically. It was too nasally. He was glad he didn't _really_ sound like that at least to himself. He was disappointed the last line didn't sound more like Sidney Greenstreet. He tried it again and on the fourth try was pleased he'd gone that extra mile.

*click*

"10:42 - Hasn't started raining. My leg says it will within the hour. I told it to shut up. Subject is in his office with the object. Thinking about using neurotoxin. Also thinking about lunch."

*click*

*click*

"10:53 - Taub is standing at my desk with a Butterfingers candy bar. I told him I wanted 3 Musketeers."

"Actually you just said "candy now". What's with the recorder?"

"Quiet. Now I'll have to edit that out. Go! Correct candy, now!"

*click*

*click*

"11:15 - Supplies are exhausted. I'm afraid the expedition is a failure. Crew has gone native. I'm…not sure if I can go on. I have a tough decision to make - Jew or Hindu - which to kill and cannibalize first?"

*click*

*click*

"11:16 - It's raining. Subject is still in his office. I am less concerned with the MacGuffin and more concerned with my need for protein.

*click*

*click*

"11:28 - I'm going to interact with the subject, try to gain his trust. And his lunch."

*click*

*click*

"2...something - Subject continued acting weird at lunch. Note: Subject always acts weird, but this was a different flavor of weird. Not that he tastes funny. Not that I've…hell."

*click*

*click*

*whirl*

*click*

*click*

"2:12 - No new intell achieved by directly interacting with the subject. He is keeping the item with him. I've come up with several cunning plans to separate him from it, but none that will give me enough quality, alone time with it without involving other parties."

*click*

*click*

"2:30ish - Finally caught a break. Patient's surgery moved up and Wil…the subject… is scrubbing in to assist/watch/worry. He can't take the MacGuffin into the O.R."

*click*

House stood outside Wilson's office. He didn't like this part of his plan, but he wanted Wilson to feel comfortable leaving the journal in his office. House knew he could probably fake it, but with Wilson being all weird and skittish he didn't want to risk it. He'd done so much worse to himself with barely a thought, House didn't think at all as he whacked his cane against his bad leg. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. Limping heavily he entered Wilson's office.

"House, I don't have time. They moved Mr. Timpkins surgery up." Wilson looked up and immediately catalogued House's pained, blanched face. "Are you okay," he asked jumping up from the desk and rushing to House to take his pulse.

"Pain…bad today. I'm going home."

"I can see that. You were fine at lunch. Come over here and sit down." House damned Wilson for his caring. He was supposed to make a quick exit so Wilson could go to the surgery.

"No, I'm going home. I called for a cab." Wilson looked at him suspiciously. Thinking quickly he added, "I need 20 bucks for the fare." He held out his hand. Wilson smiled wearily and took a bill out of his wallet. He started to hand it to House before he pulled it away.

"Why didn't you ask me to drive you home?" House buckled his knees as a stalling tactic. Wilson grabbed him, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him standing, or at least Wilson thought he was keeping him standing.

"Sorry," House panted unnecessarily. "I don't like people seeing me like this. Not even you." House looked into Wilson's eyes, but quickly looked away. The only thing I hate more, he thought, is telling you that.

Wilson loved little moments like this, moments when House lowered his shields enough to let him see the vulnerable, scared, lonely man he knew was in there afraid of getting out. He only wished House would do it when he wasn't in pain. As much as Wilson didn't like House being in pain, he loved looking into his eyes, his soul really, with his arms around him. He probably could let House go now. He probably should. Yes, he should let go and take two steps away. Going to do it. Better do it soon before this gets awkward. Reluctantly, Wilson listened to himself and let go of House. He didn't take the recommended two steps away though. He called it a compromise.

"Okay, here's some money, but I'm going to come by later. It's probably just from the weather." House nodded and avoided looking at Wilson's face. Wilson fought the urge to rub circles on his back and kiss his temple. Maybe coming over to visit him later was a bad idea. House mumbled his thanks and limped towards the elevators.

As the elevator doors closed, House would have jumped up and clicked his heels if he had been able. It had gone perfectly. He wished he had come up with the weather excuse, he'd been whining about it all day after all, but having Wilson draw that conclusion made the whole thing click. He had $20, a promise of a Wilson bought dinner, and a mystery to solve. Life was good.

House hid out for a half hour before heading back upstairs. He ignored his team as he walked past them and onto the balcony. He took two steps before he remembered the damnable rain. Pivoting over the low wall, he soaked the seat of his pants. He was quickly too cold and wet to hum the "Mission Impossible" theme and was angry to find Wilson's door locked. Struggling with the Dyno Kwick Pick, it quickly went from being a challenge to a nuisance. Just as he was considering calling Foreman over or breaking the glass, House felt the lock click. He didn't waste any more time going straight to Wilson's desk. He dropped, shook, and wiped rain water on every surface within a foot radius. He plopped onto Wilson's chair and began searching the drawers of the desk. He didn't expect to find anything new, but Wilson was known to throw a curve ball now and then so he didn't take anything for granted. House didn't find anything, but he did manage to make a wet, papery mess that made him glad it wasn't his desk. He even felt a moment of guilt that Wilson didn't have a team to clean up the mess he was making. To accentuate his point he turned Wilson's pen cup over dumping the pens, rubber bands, paperclips, and strange dusty pink plastic clip onto the floor. That was completely unnecessary, House thought as he kicked at the pens.

House picked up Wilson's briefcase. Of course it's not locked, House thought, sighing. Now that he wasn't standing in the rain and had time to get in the Watergate break-in spirit Wilson had to spoil his fun by not throwing up an obstacle – typical. Under papers and in an expandable folder labeled "Budget" House found his quarry. As a bonus he also found a packet of peanut butter cheddar crackers that he unconsciously opened and began eating.

He spent so much effort planning on getting the book he hadn't put a lot of thought into speculating about the contents of the journal. He thought it might be a real diary or maybe another book of death this time focusing on killing patients. He suspected it would be about Amber. He hoped it didn't include odes and sonnets. Then again, he instinctively knew it was about him. Or, he admitted, his ego assumed it was about him. He made himself comfy and opened the book. House went directly to the last entry.

"_You haven't even tied me up yet." Oh how I love it when he teases me like that! _

Tease? Wait. Wasn't that what he said this morning?

_I leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Maybe this time I'll let you tie me up." _

He probably wasn't writing about me. He couldn't be. Could he? No, no way.

_Before I could get his response that annoying woman that works for him burst in and started yakking about their patient. _

House's eyes threatened to bulge out of his skull.

_I gave him a wink and left. If we'd been alone I'm sure he would have growled and leapt on me right there._

House growled. He might not be able to leap, but he did have the sound effects down.

_I went to my office and tried to concentrate on the budget. There wasn't much point. I couldn't stop thinking about House's smoldering eyes, the way his pink tongue peeks out and teases his lip, the curve of his hip when he leans against his cane knowing he's got nothing prove…_

House felt his heart crash back down into his chest as he slammed the book close and shoved it across the desk. For a moment he thought Wilson was writing about being attracted to him. "…_curve of his hip…_" Was this Wilson Big Black Book of Mocking House? He wasn't surprised Wilson realized House wanted him. Wilson knew him better than anyone and that included his theories of attraction. And everybody wanted Wilson and he fell into the general category of "everybody". But he never crossed the line. He invaded Wilson's personal space and made flirty innuendo that might be construed by some as more than a friendly gesture. So what if he had desires? He didn't deserve to be lampooned for it. He no sooner thought that than decided that he did deserve it. He should be ashamed at not being ashamed of himself.

He scoffed at himself. Tomorrow there would be an entry about how House swooned and Wilson had to catch him before dropping everything to drive him home and take care of him. Pathetic.

House reached for the book. He might as well see what else Wilson had to write. He'd gone through all the trouble to break in. He flipped to the middle of the entries and steadied himself for another slap in the face.

_I pushed House into the conference room and asked him if he knew what O'Shea had told me._

Oh god. Was that well never going to run dry?

_He pretended not to know what I was talking about. I told him he didn't need to lie. We hadn't been speaking at the time. He was looking for someone to comfort him. I understand. I just wanted to get it out in the open. _

Keep it in the closet, Wilson.

_He finally admitted offering to have sex with O'Shea. It was only sex. I hate it when he says that. "I'm not gay. It's only sex." I want to yell at him that if he enjoys sucking me off, and he's certainly never complained, that means he's at least a little gay. But I didn't want to have that argument._

Good 'cause neither do I.

_I asked him if he was attracted to him. He acted like he didn't know what I was talking about. I slapped him to get his attention._

Finally a little violence against the cripple!

_He looked stunned. That's when I realized he didn't know just how mad I was._

Mad like a hatter in a blender.

_I shoved him into one of the conference room chairs. He knew I was serious. I asked him again if he found O'Shea attractive. He shook his head and I told him to stop lying. _

_I said, "You wouldn't have offered if you weren't interested." He nodded. I sat on the conference table and told him how important it was to me that he be honest with me. He nodded again. I wanted to slap him, but I didn't. I kept reminding myself that I didn't have any reason to be jealous. House would never cheat on me._

I wouldn't place a bet on that.

_But the idea of O'Shea kissing him, putting his hands on him…_

Lucas was right. O'Shea isn't right for me. I can't see him doing any fun stuff with me.

…_making him moan in ecstasy…_

Definitely can't imagine that.

…_was driving me crazy. I asked to tell me what he found appealing about him. He shrugged. I cupped his cheek and ran my thumb along his stubble. He looked so sad. He always looks that way when I try to talk about anything that happened when I was away._

Why does everybody think I look sad? And he makes it sound like he was on vacation. I wonder how he'd like it if I picked up and left. No, he'd probably be relieved.

_I asked him if he wanted O'Shea to touch him like this and he shook his head no. I asked him if he was going to say anything or just keep nodding. He shrugged again. As much as I hate seeing him sad and uncharacteristically quiet, his passivity was hot._

Hot? Sounds like I was bored.

_I leaned back and unfastened my belt._

Not bored.

_I said he'd have to prove to me he wanted me more than O'Shea. He looked up and smiled at me. He was about to say something when I put a finger against his lips. I told him he had missed his opportunity to talk. He looked almost grateful that he didn't have to explain any more. I took his hands and put them on my thighs. "Since we aren't going to talk about it, show me what else you can do with your mouth." _

Wouldn't I like to show you!

_He didn't need any other instructions. He deftly undid my slacks…_

Deftly? If Wilson ever said that word it wasn't in any situation I've seen. Who's he trying to impress? Roget?

…_and had his fingers in my boxers before I had time to rethink the conference room. No one has ever got me so hard so fast as House. I can't be in the same room as him without getting a semi._

I so wish that was true!

_House has the most beautiful fingers. They are long and elegant and soft, but masculine. They make it look like he's playing the piano when he's typing at the computer._

House smiled as he remembered the clinic patient who told him that and him telling Wilson about it. He liked the image and he liked Wilson remembering it. That didn't seem like a mocking thing to bring up.

_And he knows how to use them. _

Damn right.

_He was squeezing me a little tighter than I normally like, which he knew, and stroking me roughly. It was good, but it wasn't what I wanted. I put my hands on his head and kissed him. His tongue begged me to follow it home._

That's a weird way of saying you Frenched me.

_I asked him if that was how he wanted O'Shea to kiss him. He started to answer so I kissed him again. I broke the kiss and pulled back. He moved forward and I stopped him. I said O'Shea had missed his big chance and I meant it. For one thing, he's never going to know how good his mouth feels. I'm getting hard just thinking about it. _

Me too.

_I pulled his head towards my crotch. I didn't have to say anything before he had his lips on me. I wish I could describe how amazing he is at this. House's head is the best! It's something about his technique mixed with his arrogant, obsessive attention. _

It's good to know my arrogance, obsessions, and skills are good for something other than medicine.

_He'd never let a lover be less than astounded and satisfied. As selfish as he can be he won't settle for being second best. This time was no different. He licked and sucked and moaned when he took me all the way down his throat before making a quiet gagging sound. He grabbed my hips and held me in place as he moved faster up and down my length. _

Length? Come on, Wilson! You mean your cock, dick, John Thomas, rod, prick, throbbing member.

_I love watching his head bob up and down while he sucks me. He looked up at me with those beautiful eyes and I told him I was close. He sucked me harder and I climaxed. The feeling of him swallowing my ejaculate – oh god, it's great every time. This time he didn't want to relinquish me and I felt my face twitch along with half my muscles. After that final spasm he let me go. He gave me his cheeky smile and said "Do you think that's how O'Shea would like it?" If I had any strength left in my body I would have hit him._

House could take a little mocking if it was hot. Then again, Wilson had kept this journal secret. Maybe…no, House wasn't going to jump to conclusions. If he thought he had a chance of fucking Wilson that would mean there was a chance of Wilson killing him. He knew the odds of a dirt nap were better. Still, it didn't hurt to read a little more.

_House never forgets anything._

That sounded familiar.

_I should say he never forgets anything trivial or meaningless._

Come on, Wilson! At least make the effort not to plagiarize yourself!

_Does he remember my birthday? No. Does he remember I wear the brown Crockett & Jones on Tuesdays? Yes. Can he just let it go if I wear them on a Monday? No. Mondays are usually Bexleys or maybe even Kenneth Coles, but never the C&Js. Does he think I'm so predictable that wearing different shoes means I'm up to something?_

We've been over this! You were up to something! I was right!

_And when I don't give him a good enough reason why I'm wearing them on a Monday he assumes I'm hiding something and lying to him about it. Sometimes his jealousy is more than I can stand._

Jealousy? Of your shoe collection? Your loafers have nothing on my sneakers!

_He thinks I'm the predictable one, but I know exactly how to manipulate him. _

You manipulate me? House couldn't get too upset since he knew it was true, but it still burned that Wilson knew it was true, too.

_I told him to meet me in patient room 5206 by elevator C at 7 so we could talk privately._

I've got to check that room out some time.

_I gave his arm a little squeeze. To the casual observer, House doesn't like to be touched. Having studied him very closely for years, I can tell you that isn't true._

Yes it is. Don't touch me.

_He just isn't used to it and his surprise that anyone would touch him is often mistaken for anger._

No, my anger is usually mistaken for irritation.

_He loves being touched. I knew he would show up out of curiosity. That little squeeze guaranteed me he'd be prompt. _

And this little story guarantees I'll never be on time for anything with you again.

_I got there early to get ready. I wasn't anxious per se, but I was eager._

You not anxious? Clearly fiction.

_House opened the door at exactly 7. I think he was loitering in the hallway for a few minutes to make sure he wasn't, heaven forbid, early. _

Hrmmpf.

_I told him I had something to tell him that I thought would be difficult for him to hear. He was fidgeting with his cane nervously so I used it to my advantage and told him he was making me nervous so he needed to sit down. He made some smart ass comment and sat down on the bed. I started pacing like I was fretting over how to say something. After turning around twice I sat next to him and used his needle neck jab move to knock him out._

You must have some kind of needle neck fetish. At least in this version you aren't trying to manhandle me onto the bed.

_I didn't have much time. I took off his jacket, sports coat, wrinkled shirt, and t-shirt. I think he wears layers like that so people will want to undress him. Looking at him half naked, I had a flash of guilt and wondered if he was trying to hide how much weight he's lost. _

You, guilt, and weight – that seems like one of those theme things. And shouldn't you feel guilty for ambushing and drugging your best friend? That doesn't seem to bother you.

_I fastened the restraints around his waist and finally relaxed a little. At least if he woke up he wouldn't be able to hit me. Kick maybe, hit no. _

_Part of why I decided to do this was to teach him a lesson about being jealous and obsessive about how I spend my time. I felt like he was on constant alert for signs of my next girl friend or new friend. It was exhausting._

You're exhausted? Do you think it's easy keeping vigil for the next ex-Mrs. Wilson?

_Another reason was my lust, not just for his body, but for the illusion of controlling him. That in itself was a turn on. I'll admit I also wanted a little revenge. Mainly I wanted to get his attention and show him how much I wanted him without hearing any caustic replies. I wanted to get his attention and make him listen. Sometimes with House, action is the only thing that speaks while words go mute and scurry away. _

If I'm so horrible why would you "want" me?

_Before I put the gag on him, I couldn't resist leaning down and lightly kissing his delicate, thin lips. _

House ran his fingers over his mouth. He didn't think his lips were that thin.

_I gagged him and moved down to his jeans._

You romantic devil, you!

_Shoes, jeans, underwear, socks – and he was naked. He groaned so I quickly fastened the leg restraints around his ankles. They didn't look very strong, but if they held down PCP crazed ax murderers I figured they'd work for House. I barely had the last one fastened when he began moving. He was waking up sooner than I thought, but I was ready. _

Always prepared like a twisted BDSM boy scout.

_I ran my fingers through his hair, what there is of it…_

Below the belt!

_...while he was waking up. For a moment he was awake and looked peaceful. It was only a brief moment before he realized he was tied down and gagged. He panicked, but he couldn't do anything so I let him thrash helplessly for a few minutes. When he finally had to concede that helplessness, I had his attention._

"_House," I said…_

Who else would have said? Did you invite friends over?

…_,"I'm not going to hurt you."_

No, just strip me of my human rights, dignity, and clothing. No damage done.

_I placed my hand on his stomach. I wanted to say so much. I wanted to tell him to let his guilt and grief go because I have. I wanted to tell him to stop worrying I'd leave again. I wanted to tell him I couldn't stand to go on without him. I wanted to tell him I love him. Even having it planned out in my head, now I couldn't speak. I didn't have the words. _

Yes, because words seem to be such a problem for you.

_I kissed his forehead then planted brief kisses down to his neck. I told him I was sorry I had to drug him, but it was for his own good. I kissed and licked the needle mark. I'd fixated on his neck for so long I became overly enthusiastic about it and left a mark of my own. _

Oh great! And you said I looked weird in my turtleneck. How am I supposed to hide that? Neckerchief? I don't think wearing an ascot would be questioned at all!

_I let my hands wander all over his shoulders and chest. His skin was so warm and soft it seemed almost like some sumptuous and expensive fabric. My tongue followed my hands and his soft moans told me he was putty in my hands._

I'm thinking of a harder sculptor's medium.

_His penis, on the other hand, was nearly erect and soon in my other hand._

If wishes were horses…

_I didn't even think about it before my mouth was around him. I wanted him so completely, realizing my longings was almost an unconscious act. _

House groaned and almost put the book down. It was almost painful to read.

_I looked up and caught his eye. I've never seen eyes as beautiful as his. _

I wish you really believed that. House made the effort to once again set aside any thoughts of disappointment and concentrate on the image of being at Wilson's mercy. Mercy!

_I stood up and ran my fingertips up his side. I found a ticklish spot just above his waist and his reaction set me on fire. I tore my clothes off like some kind of wild man…_

I'm guessing he means he didn't stop to fold.

…_and climbed on top of him. I wanted as much of his skin touching as much of mine as possible. My loins were on fire…_

Heehee, loins…

…_when our erections met. He moaned and it sent shivers down my spine. I thrust against him and lost myself in the sensation. When I looked down into his eyes it was too much for me and I came almost painfully against him. I sat back and pumped his erection until his very essence was covering my chest._

My essence? I suppose that's better than 'my ejaculate'.

House flipped through the book and found more corny clichés and purple prose.

_Waking with out limbs entwined…his beautiful eyes…a hopeless yearning causing an endless hollow cavern in his soul…_

Well, House understood that sentiment intimately. He closed the journal and tucked it back in the briefcase. As usual, he berated himself, he had played too long and the game stopped being fun. He imagined Wilson laughing over the pages. He felt his own hollow cavern growing. Suddenly going home sick seemed like a necessity. Then again, he could imagine Wilson blushing over the pages. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't go straight home.

When Wilson made it back to his office his thoughts were on dinner. Maybe he'd stop and get some groceries on his way to House's and make them a home cooked meal. If it wasn't for him he was sure House would have a fridge filled only with condiments and suspicious Styrofoam takeout containers.

Then he saw the state of his office.

All the tell tale signs of House brand chaos littered, literally, the room. His irritation quickly turned to panic when he remembered the super double secret journal. He leaped to the briefcase and immediately knew from the wet hand prints it had been violated. Wilson dropped to his knees and opened the case at eye level. Under the soggy budget paperwork and just above a slightly damp medical journal was the book. _THE_ Book. Most of the fingerprints had dried causing ripples on some of the pages, but it was enough proof that he couldn't pretend House hadn't read it. Wilson's flop sweat added to the rain drops and with shaky hands he closed the briefcase.

He made an effort to build up his righteous indignation on the drive. It wasn't difficult. How dare House go through his private papers! Was it asking so much for him to mind his own business? No, it wasn't. Just let House try to hold this over him! He could find a new best friend, but House! Wasn't he the only person to always, well almost always, well the person who most often, stood by House?

He pounded on the door with all the fury he had mustered. There wasn't any answer. Did House think he would just turn around and leave? Ha! He fished along his key ring for the right one. He was going to show House once and for all he wasn't some kind of door mat. He was going to burst in and …

"It's open and I'm not getting up!"

He couldn't even leave me that one little victory! Ugh!

Wilson threw the door open then slammed it behind him. House didn't do anything. He was on the couch with his back against the arm and his leg propped up on pillows. Wilson damned the man for wearing his reading glasses. Wilson didn't need that kind of distraction from his anger. Wilson was further distracted by House's complete nonchalance. Was the man going to pretend he hadn't read _THE _Book? It would be just like him to avoid an uncomfortable situation and not talk about this.

He'll probably make me drag a confession from him so he can get defensive and…

"After reading your diary I decided to keep a journal of my own." Wilson was stunned. That was completely unexpected. He moved closer and saw a book sitting in House's lap. It looked like a teenage girl's diary complete with 10 cent lock.

"Is that 'Hello Kitty'?" Wilson temporarily forgot how angry he was.

"They were out of Badtz Maru, but they ordered one for me. The girls at the Sanrio store thought I was buying a present for my granddaughter! Do I really look like a grandfather? Do I need to have Taub give me a consult on a skin peel or something?"

"You look fine." Wilson's anger turned confusion turned solidly into annoyance.

"Meh. So what are you going to buy me for dinner?"

"What, in that insane, diseased mind of yours, makes you think I'm going to buy you dinner? You," Wilson struggled to find the words, "you read my private thoughts."

House took off his glasses with exaggerated care.

"I have to empty my bladder for this conversation." House swung his leg painfully off the pillows and started slowly down the hall.

"I'm not going to let this go, House, no matter how miserable you look." Wilson could already feel sympathy pains building in his leg as he stepped aside for House. Sitting down on the couch, his eyes were drawn to the garish diary House had been holding. He saw House had written "Keep Out" in lightning bolt letters and almost laughed. It was in his hands before he even thought about it.

House had added an eye patch and bloody sword to Hello Kitty's pink ensemble. The "Property of Greg" sticker on the back was clearly another purchase from the Sanrio store with a penguin playing a guitar.

He barely touched the lock as he turned it back over and it flipped open. Wilson wasn't sure if he'd broken the cheap lock or if House simply hadn't locked it. Without, again, consciously deciding to, Wilson opened the book.

_I need to stop making negative assumptions._

Gee, that's a real revelation!

_I need to stop being a jerk._

I could have told you that, too.

_I need to stop pretending I don't care._

Like you really do!

_I need to stop thinking about things I can't have like friends, lovers, and pain free days._

Wilson didn't want to read any more of House's self-indulgent, self-pitying woes. That didn't stop him from skipping to the next page.

_This is what I want._

Wilson already knew what House wanted. Or at least he thought he did.

_Today was a long day. I know I make not doing my job look easy, but it's more work than my actual job. I was achy because of the rain, but then I hit my leg – whole other story there – and I had to go home. I took an extra Vicodin and stretched out on the couch. It wasn't long before Wilson came home. _

_I must have lost track of time or he left work early. I hoped he wasn't worried about my leaving early, but he's always worrying about something and luckily for him I'm around to give him an endless supply of reasons to. He looked like he'd had a bad day, too._

Wilson couldn't help but marvel at House's gall to equate his bad day to Wilson's.

_He sat down on the end of the couch and loosened his tie. I pulled the pillow out from under my leg and propped my feet in his lap instead. He absent mindedly rubbed an ankle. His eyes were closed. He looked like he had a headache._

A headache was exactly what Wilson had.

_I asked him if he wanted me to order a pizza and he nodded. I sat up to reach the phone and called. I hate calling in orders. I actually hate calling period. Alexander Graham Bell was the real anti-Christ. Don't fall for imitators!_

Wilson snickered in spite of himself.

_I rubbed his shoulders and he mad a little mmpfh kind of sound. He let me move him around until I had my back against the arm of the couch and he had his back against my front. There isn't much I can do for Wilson. Virtually nothing, really, but I can give one heck of a shoulder rub/neck massage! _

Wilson had heard that before. He could imagine the kind of good those fingers could do.

_It didn't take long for him to relax into me. He rubbed the outside of my legs. He hit the spot I'd hit earlier and I jerked. He apologized and I told him to shut up and stop ruining the moment. He leaned back again and I wrapped my arms and legs around him. He laughed._

"_I love you, Wilson," I whispered into his ear. He grabbed my hand._

"_I love you, too, House," he whispered kissing the palm of my hand before placing it on his chest. _

_We stayed like that until the pizza arrived._

_I know that sounds boring and doesn't involve amazing sex or convoluted scenarios, but being close to Wilson is what I think about when I think about what I really want._

_Of course, amazing sex is always on the menu. Think of it as the House Special (I write winking luridly)._

Wilson laughed and tried not to let his emotions get the better of him. He closed the book.

"Do you want me to order a pizza?" Wilson hadn't heard House return. House was looking sheepishly at the ceiling as if he was suddenly inspecting the molding.

"Sure, sounds like a plan." Wilson made a show of loosening his tie until House finally met his eyes. He smiled at him and patted a sofa cushion.

House suddenly had a new found appreciation for fiction.


End file.
